


My gravity's centered

by winterysomnium



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Car Sex, Consensual, Established Relationship, Fingering, High School AU, M/M, Semi Public Sex, Underage - Freeform, aka they make up, blowjob, half clothed sex, klance, make up make outs, no one sees them though, not sure it counts as underage but to be sure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-01 22:39:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8640919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterysomnium/pseuds/winterysomnium
Summary: Keith blows Lance in the 7/11 parking lot Lance part times at and somehow it leads to everything getting right, between them, again. (aka they talk)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to @varevare, because she’s my bro and likes Klance and why not. Title is a lyric from the song “Sweater Weather” by The Neighbourhood.

It’s not reluctant, the shift of Keith’s mouth, when he drags Lance upwards, when he unzips his jeans, when he kisses his belly like he’s healing a wound, when he sucks on the dip of Lance’s skin, grips Lance’s thighs so tight it makes him buckle, makes him hiss and grasp at Keith’s skull, at the bite of his mouth.

“Lift your hips,” Keith says, _orders_ , tugging at everything separating Keith’s mouth and Lance’s cock and Lance does, quickly, nearly punches Keith with his junk but Keith’s quicker, faster, and a shiver hits Lance’s skin, his erection half built and Keith gives him no time, presses Lance inside of him, hot and with a little bit of too much teeth and Lance loves it, too much, loves to rub his thumb over Keith’s jaw, loves Keith controlling the pulse of his hips, loves it when Keith abandons his erection to bite his inner thighs, to make Lance rub his cock against the outside of Keith’s cheek, dampening his temple, when Keith makes Lance _himself_ slide against Keith’s tongue, kisses his tip with the faintest of touches and then holds Lance down, palms holding his hands and Lance comes, hard, tense, and Keith swallows, jerks himself off in front of him, flushed, gorgeous, as Lance cradles his hair and drags him for a kiss that’s gross and tastes like something bitter and raw, as he hears Keith come through the tremor of his mouth, through the hot drops that drip into his navel, down to his cock.

“Is this your idea of saying sorry?” Lance asks, wiping his skin with the corner of Keith’s shirt and Keith zips himself up, leans away, stares at Lance, at his half naked, jeans tangled legs, his lazy sprawl.

“I had nothing to apologize for.” Keith frowns and Lance raises himself on his elbows, and somewhere two rows away a car pulls up; the lights illuminate the space between them, the distance it takes.

“You rejected me!” Lance says, in a start to an argument, in something between hurt and insult, Keith doesn’t seem to understand.

“I never said no to anything you wanted,” Keith says, frustrated, like he’s lost the moment Lance is speaking of, like he’s trying to find it on the backseat, stuck behind the fake leather, lost between the crumbs Lance’s younger brothers swept there, and Lance wishes this was as easy as out running the quarterback, wishes dating Keith wasn’t an extraterrestrial affair.

“I asked you to go to the dance with me and you said you don’t go to those,” Lance reminds him, and Keith keeps his face tilted to the horizon between Lance’s jeans and knees, bare, and Lance thinks his junk looks quite unimpressive right now, limp and a bit sweaty and still somewhat interested, because Keith is still sitting on his calves, still giving that promise of seconds, of giving Lance that breathless anticipation, that rush of want.

“Because I don’t.”

“It’s just a dance,” Lance grumbles, distinctly jerking his leg upward, throwing Keith off of his left ankle, tugging the pants upwards and the way Keith holds onto the top of the seat, bewildered, makes something in Lance preen. “And I’m your boyfriend,” he adds, with a huff. “Your ‘actually made it to the football team and is surrounded by cheerleaders that want to date him but he’s a decent boyfriend so he doesn’t let them feel him up’ boyfriend. So you could _at least_ tell me why you don’t want to go.”

“I have nothing to wear for it and I can’t dance,” Keith answers, weight lifted, kneeling over Lance and man, does Lance want to wreck him, wants to be wrecked, even more; his cock twitches, jerks, but Keith’s looking somewhere outside, onto the parking lot, onto the asphalt, heavy and cold.

“No one can dance. And you can borrow something from my brother,” Lance says, grunting as he dresses, his jeans stuck under his butt and Keith’s not helping, that ass, but then Keith bites his mouth, bites something within himself, loose.

“I don’t want to make you look stupid,” he confesses, fidgets with a strap on his boot. “I mean, you manage just fine in doing that most days by yourself, but you’re actually kinda good at -- dancing and crowds, and people liking you. Even though you’re kinda saying stupid jokes. People still laugh at them. I just -- don’t want them to laugh at _you_ ,” he says, the cheap seat creaking under the difference of his body, his shifting weight.

Lance is frozen, frozen over, the depth of Keith’s concern unexpected and Lance feels inexperienced at Keith being self conscious, at Keith doubting himself.

“Are you that bad at dancing?” he asks, to dissipate that unfamiliar print between them and Keith shoves him, with a scowl.

“You’re such an asshole.”

He _is_ , but so’s Keith, and Lance doesn’t want it to soak up the honesty, the genuine movements of Keith’s mind. So he sighs, sitting up, a bit higher, which forces his jeans down to his thighs again and why does he have to be vulnerable while they have this talk, why does it always happen weird and out of tune with Keith, but he ignores the burn of the shift for now, focuses on Keith’s face, his uncomfortable frown.

“Come on, man. You said it yourself: you can’t embarrass me more than I already do on a daily basis.” He snatches Keith’s hand, holds onto it when Keith recoils, holds onto it, because Keith sags into him; crashes against his shoulder blade, face hot and unsure.

“I _am_ that bad at dancing,” Keith admits, weakly, and Lance snorts, and with a grin, a laugh in his mouth, he says: “I’m only taking you to look pretty anyway,” and that earns another punch from Keith, a snip at his side, that makes Lance yelp, and then Keith’s fist trails down, opens, and his palm finds Lance’s head, lying in the crook of his hip.

“You starting something there?” he asks, already a hitch to his heart beat and Keith offers: “I missed you,” and they haven’t seen each other for a bit of a week or so, busy with finals and Lance’s shitty part time job and Keith’s even shittier one, busy with Lance pointedly not talking to Keith and Keith not trying, again, anyway, busy with being dumb and dramatic, really, Lance thinks.

Keith strokes him, already settling into Lance, comfortably, and Lance kisses his neck, guides him to his mouth and Keith fingers him, with some nearly empty bottle of lube to make it good and Lance sobs into his shoulders, curls around Keith and he returns all of it, sliding between Keith’s thighs, letting Keith fuck his thighs after he comes, lets him bruise his sides.

He’s never dated anyone as strange, as beautiful, as weird as Keith, but when Keith drinks in all of Lance, keeps all of his ridiculous notes and messages he sends at three am, when he says: “I really like you, Lance, I do.” into a tired, goodbye kiss, at the front of the 7/11 parking lot Lance part times at, he decides it’s worth it, it’s worth all of the awkward, curious misunderstandings they have.

(It’s worth it, when Keith threatens to throw him out a window, as he nearly strangles himself on a tie and Lance laughs so hard he cries because all of Keith’s buttons are misplaced and crooked and it’s worth it, because Keith stays for the picture Lance’s Mom takes, stays for the dinner, stays for a dance where he steps on Lance’s toes every time they move but it’s good because he’s smiling and Lance is making him happy, and hey, _he’s_ happy, too.)

((It’s worth it.))

(((Hell yeah.)))


End file.
